1st Day of the 4th Quarter of the Moon of
Songs, Season of Wines, Year 766.
Days in Barovia: 4. The moon waxes gibbous.
…And
Justice For All
As midday
approached, the Bullingdon Boys found their way to the town square which was
slowly filling with people. A newly
erected scaffold dominated the square, and upon it were seven figures: Izek,
and the six prisoners from Wachterhaus. The baron arrived at the edge of the
square on horseback and wove his way to the scaffold.
“Fair people of Vallaki! Welcome, to the
Festival of the Blazing Sun!” he beamed eagerly at his gloomy audience, as
the rain continued to pour. “Now, there
has been a little adjustment to the schedule of the festival – our friends and
allies from outside Barovia, the Bullingdon Boys-”
“Bully bully bully! Oi oi oi!” The Bully
Boys chanted.
“Discovered a malicious plot” the baron
continued, “which would have deprived
you, the fair people of Vallaki of your glorious leader – me, Vargas
Vallakovich! So, in addition to the Festival of the Blazing Sun, we are going
to have a public execution!”
The party
let out a cheer of “Hooray!” but none
of the townsfolk joined them – the atmosphere was one of sullen resignation.
“Dickie, I think we may have misjudged the
mood in the room somewhat,” Cornelius whispered to his manservant as he
looked at the people around them.
A voice
spoke up from the crowd, saying “Vargas!
What are you doing?” but the baron ignored the question.
“These six traitors were discovered plotting
in a nefarious scheme in which they
would have killed me! As punishment for this, Izek will now execute them.”
Cornelius
started looking for the nearest way out of the square as Izek hefted his axe.
Dickie looked around at the folk surrounding him, and muttered a word to
activate the magic armour found in Wachterhaus; his clothing shifted and
changed to look like the garb of a Barovian peasant.
One after
another, the prisoners were brought to a block on the scaffold and Izek brought
his axe down. The large man seemed to enjoy the grim task, and a pair of
guardsmen dumped the remains of the manservant, the four conspirators and Lady
Wachter into the back of a cart unceremoniously. The crowd was silent; the only
sounds in the square were the patter of rain and the thud of the axe.
“Excellent!
Now the traitors have been removed from our midst, we can carry on with the
festival! Tout suite!” Vallakovich clapped his hands, and the crowd awkwardly
parted as a parade of unhappy looking children dressed as flowers trudged
through the mud, leading a group of men and women carrying a ten-foot diameter
ball of wicker. The burgomaster’s wife followed, holding a bouquet of wilting
flowers. The ball was taken to the scaffold, where it was hoisted up above the
crowd. The ball-carriers started to splash the effigy with oil as thunder
rumbled and the rain increased.
“All will be well!” The baron cried,
raising a spluttering torch and thrusting it into the orb… just as the torch
spluttered out. A singular laugh erupted from the crowd, quickly curtailed as
the baron’s eyes whipped to the source. Paris clicked his fingers, and the oil
on the ball ignited, surprising the baron who dived out of the way.
“Izek! Arrest that man, he’s a malicious
malcontent!” the baron’s finger pointed shakily into the crowd where the
laughter had come from, and Izek stormed off the scaffold in that direction. “You see? The glorious blazing sun will keep
us all happy and, and, keep the devil away and all will be well!” the
baron’s voice quavered as his eyes darted across the faces in the crowd. He had
Izek tie the laugher behind his horse and paraded across the cobbles, dragging
the man. “You see? If you are happy then
all will be well, but if you are a malicious malcontent then you, you will get
your just rewards!”
“Should we help that man?” Paris
whispered to his party, but Cornelius shot down the motion – the didn’t need to
get involved. The crowd began to disperse, and the Bullingdon’s picked up discontented
mutterings as the populace returned to their daily chores.
“Well, does anyone else want some ale? Or
wine? Or whatever else they have here?” Clarence said.
Paris looked
glum. “I for one am a bit bloody
depressed, so I could certainly do with a glass of wine.”
…
Dickie had
been to the Blue Water Inn without his party a number of times already, when
gathering information and pursuing certain less-than-legal activities. A
painted sign hanging above the entrance depicted a blue waterfall, and a number
of ravens sat upon the building’s roof. Within, the tavern was busy but the
mood was gloomy; following the events of the festival, clearly many locals had
felt the same way as Paris about getting a drink. Dickie detached himself from
the other three, disguised as he was in local garb.
The barman
was a burly man with a black streak in his big white beard. “Ah, the heroes of Vallaki,” he greeted
the party sarcastically as they entered, “rooting
out the traitors in our midst.” They recognised his voice as the one that
had tried to stay the baron’s hand before the executions.
“I have absolutely no idea what you’re
talking about my good man,” Cornelius lied.
Paris played
along. “That wouldn’t be us, that would
be those Bullingdons.”
“Yes. We’re completely different individuals.
I’m, um… I’m… I’m Edward…. Edwardson. This,” he waved a hand at Paris, “is… London, and this,” he indicated
Clarence, “is my brother. Cornelius.”
The barman
was not fooled. He gave Cornelius a flat look. “And I am the king of Barovia. What do you want?”
“We’re just here to get a drink, aren’t we,
London and Cornelius?”
“Most certainly Edward! Three glasses of
your finest wine, if you would.”
“Indeed,” intoned Clarence, “It is a day for celebration, is it not?”
“I actually thought it was very depressing.
I didn’t enjoy the festival at all.”
“You ought to be careful saying that, around
that oppressive, evil, idiot of a baron!” Cornelius said with a wink at the
barman. “Try not to cause any trouble while
you’re here. Especially you, raven-killer.” This last was addressed to
Clarence.
On the other
side of the bar, Dickie had taken an interest in a pair of trappers drinking at
a table. Previously he had learned that the monster hunter- probably the ally
from their card reading- had been looking for guides before being driven out of
town. The smaller of the pair was telling his companion how he preferred the
last festival as they got to kill many wolves. The other shrugged and took a
long drink from his cup.
Dickie
introduced himself, buying both men a drink. The smaller of the pair, Szoldar
Szoldarovich, was happy to talk. The other stranger had wanted to hire the pair
but they didn’t like the work; he wanted to be taken to Argynvostholt, the
haunted ruin, and that was a bad business so they had declined the work. Since
he had been driven out of town by the baron, they expected that he had gone to
the ruin alone.
Seeing their
time in Vallaki drawing near to a close, Paris fancied saying a farewell to Ireena.
After their last interaction, Cornelius didn’t relish seeing her again so told
Paris to go on his own; he would assist Dickie in his investigations. Clarence
had some ‘business’ to attend to at the baron’s mansion.
Cornelius
decided to find his manservant among the throng in the tavern. “Dickie!” he shouted through cupped
hands, then, remembering they were using pseudonyms, “… Bren!” Dickie decided not to respond immediately. “Bren! Your master, I mean, your friend,
Edward Edwardson the itinerant farmer calls for you! Bren!”
The ruckus
drew the ire of the female proprietor of the property, who asked Cornelius to
stop his shouting. Dickie at this point made himself apparent. “We have to use aliases so to avoid
association with the baron,” Cornelius told him, pleased with his ruse. “You’re new name… is Bren! I’m sure you can
remember that, I chose a short name for you intentionally.”
Bren
“Dickie” Tanner was not impressed. “That
is, in fact, my name, sir.”
“You’re catching on immediately, Dickie!”
Recruitment
Drive
On his way
to Victor’s attic, Clarence ran into the Baron, who praised again his idea for
the public executions. The baron reminded Clarence that he was expecting to see
them at the Feast of Saint Andral, to be held in the church later that
afternoon. “Of course, I shall be there,”
Clarence confirmed.
Clarence
found Victor hunched over his spellbook in the messy attic room.
“Ah. I have thought more about how you may
augment your powers.”
“Good. I have been looking forward to our… further
tutelage.”
“Are there any towers in the countryside
near this town? Anything like this?” Clarence showed the boy the newest
page in his Tome of Shadows, where since last beseeching his patron new
information had begun to appear. Victor thought it looked familiar but couldn’t
recall; he had probably seen something in his father’s library.
“In which case, we should look for
information there. We shall investigate, for I have been guided that by this
place of power shall you gain full communion with the powers that exist beyond
this word, through this world, and before this world.”
Clarence and
a wide-eyed Victor intruded in the baron’s study; Vargas Vallakovich did not
mind, and was in fact pleased to see his son outside of the attic for once.
After some time browsing the dusty books in the baron’s collection – clearly
more there for show than for anything else – Victor found the book they wanted,
Gregor Gregorvich’s “Sights and Wonders of Barovia – A Tourists Guide”.
A small half
page section described an abandoned tower of bronze on a promontory sticking
into Lake Baratok, around which no grass or other fauna grew; the description
matched that of the diagram in Clarence’s book. He tore the page out of the
guide.
Clarence
convinced the baron that a field trip would be good for Victor’s education, and
received permission for the boy to accompany the Bullingdons on an expedition.
…
Paris found
Father Petrovich broom in hand, sweeping the nave in preparation of the Feast. “Ah,” The old preist said as Paris
cleared his thoat to announce himself, “It’s
you, um…”
“Paris Digby, mighty wizard.”
“Yes, um, Cornelius’ friend?”
“Paris Digby, yes. I’ve come to see Ireena.”
He told Petrovich how the Bullingdons were intending to leave town, and he’d
come to say goodbye to Ireena. The priest was upset that they may miss the
Feast of Saint Andral, and Paris made the mistake of asking him to explain what
the observance actually entailed.
“Ah, well, it’s… a very old celebration. Of
the bounty of the earth. Saint Andral – you remember Saint Andral? Yes? He was
a, a great man, many hundreds of years ago, and he did a huge amount to help
the land based economy of Barovia, and we have this small… I think some of the
origins are lost in time, but it’s a very… nuanced and powerful ceremony.”
“Yes, it sounds fascinating and I’m really
sad we can’t make it. But we have to be moving on!”
Petrovich
directed Paris to Ireena. He told her about the bones being returned, and therefore
the church being sanctified and safe. She thanked him, and all of the
Bullingdon Boys, and told him how she looked forward to them defeating Strahd
so she could be truly free, which Paris nervously confirmed. Ireena asked Paris
to offer Cornelius her apologies for how she treated him previously- she had
not quite been herself- and wished them well on their journey.
…
In the Blue
Water Tavern, Dickie told Cornelius what the hunters had told him. Dickie
suggested that the rumours of the place being haunted could be a ruse to keep
people away from lots of treasure. Suspecting there was more about this haunted
ruin to be found out, Cornelius turned back to the man behind the bar.
“Hello there. It’s me, Edward Edwardson,
come to speak to you again.”
The barman
finished cleaning the glass in his hands, put it down and turned to Cornelius. “What can I do for you, Bullingdon?”
Cornelius
looked around, raising his hands. “I
don’t see any Bullingdons around here! Only myself, Edward Edwardson! My
friends and I want to do a little tourism in the local area, and we heard about
a ‘spooky mansion’ nearby – could you tell us anything about it?”
“If you go back about a day and a half’s
travel to the East, there is a great big castle where I’m sure you’ll find all
sorts of adventures,” the barman replied flatly. Then, his eyes narrowing,
he asked why Cornelius was interested in Argynvostholt. “Usually I would tell you exactly where to go, and celebrate your
funeral afterwards. But I am a bit suspicious; recently a good friend of mine
was looking for that place, and I wonder if you mean him any ill will.”
“Oh, we mean no ill will to anyone! We are
friendly sorts.”
“I am sure Lady Wachter found you very
friendly.”
“I have no idea who you mean. I’ve never
heard of a Lady Wachter in my life.” Cornelius winked at Dickie.
Cornelius
kept up his unconvincing charade until finally his persistence won out, and the
exhausted barman gave them directions to Argynvostholt.
…
The party
reconvened at the mansion, and discussed their plans, consulting a map that
Clarence had found in the library. Clarence and Victor argued for the tower at
Lake Baratok, which was somewhat of a detour from Argynvostholt. The rest of
the party weren’t particularly keen, especially taking Victor.
Clarence
attempted to magically blackmail Paris into complying; casting a spell that
allows him to read surface thoughts, he sent a telepathic message into Paris’
mind. “What is the most embarrassing thing
that has ever happened to you?”
Paris tried
to repress the memories of being bullied as an orphan and wetting the bed in
the orphanage, and Clarence’s lips curled into a smile as he communicated “Support me on this, or Cornelius will know
of that incident.”
“Don’t you threaten me, Clarence!” Paris
said aloud.
Clarence
spoke again into his mind. “Come now, it
will be much easier if you help me in this.”
“Cornelius, I need to point out some very
poor behaviour on the part of your brother. Clarence has just used a spell that
I taught him to-”
“He wet the bed when he was a child,” Clarence
interrupted, provoking a “HA!” from
Cornelius. “Tell us more, Paris!”
Clarence
spoke to Paris. “Do you really wish to
continue this?”
“The bed wetting is beside the point!” Paris
said, red-faced. “Clarence read my
thoughts to find an embarrassing memory and threatened to tell everyone unless
I supported him. That is blackmail!”
Clarence
denied that he even had the power to read minds, but Cornelius and Dickie were
more convinced by Paris’ impassioned embarrassment.
“Rooting around in people’s minds is
indecent,” Dickie chastised Clarence, “I
would not advise you do that frivolously – the content of my mind is my own.”
“I do not use my power frivolously.”
“Seems pretty frivolous to me.
Cornelius
spoke up. “In any case, I’m sure we’ve
all done more embarrassing things than pissing the bed when we were kiddies. I
don’t think Paris has much to be ashamed of here.”
“Thank you, Cornelius!”
Clarence was
not happy that his ploy had failed. “Look.
It is very, very important to me that we go to this tower.”
“Well you should have just said that instead
of trying to blackmail me!”
Victor, who
had been watching this exchange with a degree of boredom, spoke up. “I want to learn the fireball!”
“We’ll have Paris teach you the fireball,”
Cornelius told him. “I can do the
fireball,” Paris confirmed.
“I saw you do the fireball,” Victor was
referring to Paris’ use of his wand of illusory fireballs in the fight against
Strahd infront of the mansion, “but you
said you wouldn’t teach me.”
“No. No, I won’t. It’s far too advanced for
you.”
“Well, that’s a good way to make me look
like a fool, Paris,” sighed Cornelius. “Now,
Victor, have you ever been in a fight? Can you dodge a punch?”
Victor gave
the question some thought. “Yes.”
Cornelius
suggested he spar with Victor to determine if he was worthy to accompany them.
Victor agreed. As Cornelius threw the first punch, Victor raised his hand and
summoned a shield of arcane energy… Which Cornelius’ blow avoided effortlessly,
gently bopping Victor on the nose.
“That was an impressive trick! Now, you try
and hit me!”
“Alakazoo!” Victor shouted, and three
darts of magical force appeared over his head, lancing into a stunned
Cornelius. Victor smiled nervously. “Did
I win?”
The
consensus was that Victor has passed muster, and showed the spirit of a Bully
Boy, although Paris still harboured doubts about the young wizard. Victor was
excited to go on an adventure; he was sent to pack his things while the
Bullingdon Boys discussed whether or not to go to the Feast of Saint Andral.
The plan
that they settled on was for the Bullingdon brothers to represent the group at
the observance, and for Dickie and Paris to remain and ransack the mansion for
goods, then blame the theft on Ernst Larnak. Afterwards, they would go to the
tower with Victor, as they didn’t want him dogging their steps through the
ruined mansion. Cornelius went to discuss the matter of payment for the boy’s
education with the baron. His request for more money did remind the baron of
the city taxes the Bullingdons had yet to pay and the fees levied upon them for
the ruckus at Wachterhaus, and once these were subtracted from the tuition fee
Cornelius ended up with much less gold than he would have liked.
The
Spectre At The Feast
The hour of
the Feast was nigh and the brothers Bullingdon headed to the church with the
baron, his wife and son, and Izek. Left at the mansion, Paris and Dickie
decided that they quite wanted to go to the feast as well; their plan to rob
the mansion wasn’t very convincing anyway. While the Vallakovich family seated
themselves on one of the front pews in the church, and Clarence and Cornelius
found themselves sat next to surprised Ireena on the other, Dickie and Paris
found seats with the congregation at the back of the church.
The people
of Vallaki filled the Church of Saint Andral, almost spilling out of the pews.
A half a dozen town guards were spread around the church. Father Petrovich
stood by the altar and had to raise his voice over the wind and rain that
rattled the stained glass windows of the church.
The Feast,
it turned out, began with a sermon – a long, droning affair that soon left a
few locals snoring. “I knew it was going
to be like this,” Paris muttered, just as thunder boomed through the
church. The bells in the belfry rang a clangour and Petrovich had to stop for a
moment. As the bells quieted and he was about to resume, there was a much
closer crash as the doors to the church burst open. A flash of lightning
revealed a silhouette; the candelabras spluttered in the wind now blowing
through the door and lit the cruel face of the lord of Barovia, Strahd von
Zarovich.
“Forgive the interruption.” Without
shouting, his voice reached the far end of the church. “I have come to collect my bride.”
Cornelius
and Izek were on their feet, and Cornelius moved into the centre aisle. Strahd
stepped forward but flinched back, hissing, as he came to the threshold of the
church.
Father
Petrovich’s wavering voice cried out “Be
gone, foul creature-”
“You can be quiet, Father,” Cornelius
interrupted, “I’ll deal with this. Look
here Strahd, you’ve had the best of me before. But since last we met, I have
become much more powerful!” Cornelius muttered the command word and the
amulet around his neck burst into light, filling the nave and drawing gasps
from the congregation.
Strahd
raised his hand, then lowered it. “Hm.
Not true sunlight. Petrovich, you fool, you’ll die for this. Tatanya, come to
me!”
Ireena stood
and dreamily moved into the aisle.
“The only person who’ll die for this is
you!” Cornelius shouted, striding dauntlessly down the aisle. “Clarence!”
Clarence stood and flung two bolts of eldritch
power at the vampire lord, one of which struck him bodily although seemingly
for no effect. Izek stepped over the baron, who had fallen to the floor and was
crawling away, and grasped Ireena by the shoulder to stop her going to Strahd.
Dickie slipped
past the citizens in his pew and moved towards the back of the church.
Cornelius continued down the aisle to the doors of the church as Victor,
confused, asked Clarence what he should do. Paris wove an enchantment to send
Ireena to sleep; Izek caught her as she fell.
“No matter,” Strahd said as his quarry
fell into sleep. “My servants will
deliver her to me.” There was an awkward pause. “I do not see Lady Wachter among you…”
The pair of guards
by the door levelled their spears at Strahd but didn’t move to attack him, as
Clarence threw two more errant bolts of eldritch energy at the vampire. Izek
laid Ireena gently on the ground and strode down the aisle towards Strahd.
Dickie slithered up next to his master and lunged at Strahd with his rapier;
his blade struck true but as once again the wound healed instantaneously.
“Glad to see you turned up to help, Dickie!”
said Cornelius, throwing punches at Strahd, whose imperceptible movements
avoided the blows with ease.
“Well well, this is a little embarrassing,
isn’t it, Strahd? No minions to help you and you can’t even enter the church!” mocked
Paris, to no seeming effect, as magical darts of energy flew past him to strike
the vampire – Victor following his tutor’s example.
“Failure upon failure. Such is my reward for
putting my faith in those fools,” the vampire growled as he weaved around
Cornelius’ punches. “Fine. This one will
have to do.” His finger pointed to Izek. “You. Bring the girl to me, and stop these fools from interfering.”
Izek stopped
in his tracks as Strahd dominated him. “Yes,
my lord.” He turned at strode back to Ireena, shouting at the guards to
arrest the foreigners; then he raised his monstrous right arm, and a ball of
flame appeared above his palm. This he flung at Clarence, briefly igniting his
robes as Paris mocked “That little hit
won’t hurt a Bullingdon!”.
Seeing his
sword was still ineffective against the vampire, Dickie turned away from the
entrance to put himself in Izek’s path; the guard nearest him shouted for him
to stop, and Dickie told him not to get involved. Cornelius turned to the
guard, shouting “Who would you rather
serve? A devil, or the blessed servant of the Morninglord?” as the medallion
shone like a sun on his chest. The guard, overcome, dropped to his knees,
crying “the Morninglord!”
Paris
distracted Izek with some crude insults about his arm. “Izek, what are you doing?” Victor cried, as his teacher was
attacked. He gestured, and a ceremonial plate from the altar was propelled into
the baron’s henchman with great force.
The guards
responded to Izek’s order – the one by the door not kneeling before Cornelius
shouted “You’re under arrest!” at
Dickie, and readied to attack him if he tried to resist. One moved to support
his captain, thrusting his spear at Clarence but catching the weapon on the
pew. Another told Victor to stop interfering, but didn’t want to hurt the
baron’s son.
The people
of Vallaki were cowering in the pews; with the devil himself at the entrance to
the church, and eldritch blasts, magic missiles, balls of flame and plates
whipping around from the other end, they had no clear path to escape the battle
they were caught up in.
Clarence
cast a spell to paralyze Izek, as more guards moved towards Dickie. “We’re trying to protect your town from the
devil himself!” he shouted at them, “can’t
you see that?” This seemed to give them pause, as they looked from the
frozen form of Izek to Cornelius fighting Strahd outside the church’s doors.
“I am not playing, Bullingdon,” Strahd
said as he struck Cornelius, “I have come
for my bride.”
“I assure you Strahd, I am deadly serious as
well.” Cornelius punched one-two, and both blows found their mark. Once
again, the beating of a huge heart rang in his ears, and the perfectly placed
hits seemed to stun Strahd.
Two of the
guards dropped to the ground snoring as Paris put them to sleep. Victor called “Leave him alone!” to the guard
attacking Clarence, but was told to be quiet. The guards spear jabbed at
Clarence, as the baron emerged behind the altar, brushing himself off. From
behind Father Petrovich he shouted “Izek,
what is this madness! Guards, leave those men alone! Stand down! I’m the baron,
damn it!”
Another
blast of energy lashed from Clarence’s hand into Strahd, to more effect than
previously. The guards seemed to be obeying the baron’s command, and Dickie
took the opportunity to strike again at Strahd; the wound his rapier caused did
not immediately close, as it had before.
Cornelius
saw his opportunity. He grasped the stunned Strahd by the lapels and hurled him
bodily through the doors of Saint Andral’s Church.
As the
vampire crossed the threshold, a keening scream escaped his mouth as a glowing
nimbus of sunlight surrounded his body; the light shone so brightly that the
Bullingdons had to avert their gazes, and when the radiance faded, all that
remained was a thin wisp of smoke. Strahd was gone.
